


Irresistible

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - College, Alternate universe: mythical creatures, Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone is still human don’t worry, Fuckboy!Brendon, M/M, Multi, Nerdy!Patrick, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pete Wentz’s nipple ring, Popular kid Pete, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Smoker Pete, Yeah I had to, but really that’s real life, messy breakups, the mythical creatures thing will be explained
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In a world where almost everyone has a drop or two of magical blood in their veins, blood from creatures like faeries, naiads, dryads, sirens, and shifters, it seems like Patrick is the only one who’s causing that “almost.” He’s not graceful like the ones with faerie blood, not a natural swimmer or climber like the naiads and dryads, sure as hell not pretty enough to be a siren, and he’s never changed his looks a day in his life. He was fine with that. He’s always been fine with being Just Patrick, until he meets a boy with dryad blood, a cocky boy with a too-big grin, whisky eyes, and a serious cigarette problem. That boy’s name is Pete Wentz.





	Irresistible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he got accepted into college, Patrick was excited. New people, new classes, freedom, maybe he’d meet someone else like him. Maybe meet someone nice, someone who’d treat him right, someone who loves music as much as he did, maybe it’d be calmer than he’d been told it was by his siblings.
> 
> Oh, how wrong he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Fall Out Boy or any of its affiliates. This is a work of fiction, please treat it as such. I will be monitoring comments, constructive criticism appreciated. If things get too rowdy, I will disable comments entirely.  
> Note: this idea came from a post on tumblr, and basically it said you can see the blood of mythical creatures in people you see every day, like dryads, naiads, faeries, etc.

     It’s a little eerie, how Patrick can just tell what blood someone carries in their veins, just by seeing them every day for thirteen years. He’d been going to the same school system since kindergarten, and the same people greeted him every day. Like that pretty, possibly Asian girl, Elisa. She was so graceful, so petite, so shy and quiet and mysterious that she couldn’t have anything other than a few drops of faerie blood running through her veins. And that boy with the firetruck red hair, an upturned nose, and hazel eyes, Gerard, with his level of sass, class, and well...ass, he couldn’t be any less than a good deal siren.

       The weird thing was, these human-like creatures that humans had children with...they all died out so, so long ago. Pollution, hunting, murder, and disease has killed them off, but their stronger, part-human offspring stayed alive, and passed on their magical traits to their children, and their children, and so on, and so on...

     Patrick could see the blood of faeries in the way ballet dancers would hang in the air for a second or two before falling. The way a middle school girl would never forget that letter a crush gave her. The way that one quiet little boy in a grade school class was so much more comfortable in forests and near natural ponds than anywhere else. He saw the blood of naiads in the kids who always held their breath the longest at the pool. In the girl with silvery-blonde hair who always had a bottle of water on her desk. In the boy who always drank a gallon of water doing landscaping for the school.

     He saw dryads in the kids who climbed trees without batting an eye. Saw it in his grandmother, who never let a single plant in her garden die. Saw it in his agriculture teacher, who always thrived more when her plants were thriving. He saw sirens in those sexy, androgynous female models on Instagram. The people with crooner voices who never had any trouble dating. That one camp counselor all the twelve-year-old girls (and himself, if he were to be honest) had a huge crush on.

     He saw shifters the most often, in the way girls’ eyes would change color to match their outfits. He saw it in actors who could turn their personality into something else entirely on a dime. He saw it in the people who were never happy with their hair color, and dyed it seemingly every week. He saw it in the set of identical twins with the freckles that seemed to move every time he looked at them. 

     But Patrick...he was Just Patrick. His eyes didn’t change color. He wasn’t athletic in any way. He wasn’t good-looking, his voice (in his opinion) was pretty average, he wasn’t graceful or mysterious, he was Just Patrick. His mother always said he was just a late bloomer, but Patrick had a sneaking suspicion that it had skipped a generation. He wasn’t mad about it. It just meant he wasn’t as weird as everyone else.

     When he got accepted into college, Patrick was excited. New people, new classes, freedom, maybe he’d meet someone else like him. Maybe meet someone nice, someone who’d treat him right, someone who loves music as much as he did, maybe it’d be calmer than he’d been told it was by his siblings.

     Oh, how  _wrong_ he was.

     The first thing that hit Patrick was the smell of weed permeating the dorm room. The next thing that hit him was the mess. Already, there looked like about a week’s worth of clothes on the floor, everything from ratty old boxers to what looked like brand-new polo shirts, strewn across the grey-brown carpet of the dorm. In the bed closest to the single window, a boy with curly brown hair about his age was laying down, staring intently at something on his phone. Judging by the many beer, soda, and water bottles on the floor, he was of naiad descent. Patrick couldn’t hear anything over the hum of the A/C, so whatever was on the phone could have been anything from a tutorial on how to summon Satan to really gross porn. Neither of those thoughts were particularly pleasant.

     Patrick slammed his bags down rather loudly and cleared his throat. The boy’s head whipped around to face him, and Patrick noticed that his eyes were bloodshot. “Uh, hey. I’m Joe,” the boy, Joe, apparently, stood up and towered over Patrick by a good five inches. He suddenly felt rather small. “I’m Patrick,” Patrick said, offering a hand. Joe looked at it with mild distaste before shaking his hand. Joe’s palms were sweaty and hot to the touch, making him want to jerk away. He subtly wiped his hands on his jeans when Joe finally turned away.

     “What’s your major, Patrick?” Joe asked as he took a swig from a metal water bottle on the floor. Patrick kicked a pair of boxers away from the other bed in the room and said noncommitally, “Music theory. You?” Joe shrugged, saying, “Double major with math and music, minor in psychology,” Patrick nodded, making a small noise in the back of his throat as he sat on the bed. A cloud of dust bloomed behind him, making him sneeze violently.

     Joe snorted. “Yeah, that’s happens. Figured that out yesterday, damn near died when I sat on the bed,” Joe ran a hand through his wild curls. Patrick said nothing, too busy waving his hand in front of his face and hacking up a lung. “When was the last time they  _cleaned_ this room?” Patrick coughed, and Joe asked simply, “What year was Albert Einstein born?” 

     “March 14, 1879,”

      “Bout fifty years before then,” 

     Joe didn’t seem at all bothered by Patrick’s knowledge of the trivia, and also didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Patrick was almost dying. He fished in his bag for his inhaler and moved away from the now-deflating mattress (could regular spring mattresses deflate? Or was that the room just being gross?) before taking  a dose, slowly trying to calm his breathing. Joe raised an eyebrow and took another swig from his bottle before saying with mild irritation in his voice, “If you have issues with a tiny bit of dust, I wonder how you’ll handle the classrooms, let alone parties-“

     “I’m not really a party person,” Patrick cut him off, setting his inhaler on the dresser between the two beds. Joe barked out a laugh, rolling his eyes slightly, “We’ll see about that. You seem like the type to get bored with studying real fast, you’ll cave and go get wasted at some point,” Patrick ignored the comment, more focused on getting his shit out of his bags. There was a closet on the far wall, right next to the very small bathroom that probably hadn’t been used since 1879, as there was a communal one right down the hall, but that closet seemed to be occupied by Joe’s shit, including water bottles, (so. many. water bottles.) clothes, and one of those weird pencil cases that had a lock on them. Patrick immediately wondered if that was where Joe kept his weed (what? He obviously had some, the room stunk of it!)

     Unfortunately, Joe was right about studying. Patrick got bored within the first three days of classes (Music theory 101, calculus, and music history on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Home Economics as a filler on Mondays and Wednesdays), and found himself being dragged off by Joe to some frat party or another.

     Being a freshman, and oh, so innocent, Patrick hadn’t known what to expect at the party. What he got though, he really didn’t expect. Sure, there was beer, weed, and lots of pretty girls in clothes that Patrick was sure they’d never wear anywhere else, but also, he found a girl and a guy in a bathroom, making out with a still-smoldering blunt next to them. They didn’t seem mad that he’d walked in on them, the girl asked if he wanted to join and the guy just laughed at him. He shut the door and quickly left the scene with a red face.

     He checked another bathroom and found a girl doing a line off the bathroom tile. On the fucking floor. The first thing Patrick wondered was... _why? Just why?_ Before he got the fuck out of there.

     Someone handed him a beer without even looking at him. He took a sip and almost gagged at the taste. He imagined that was probably what horse piss tasted like. He set down his beer and wandered around a bit, hoping to maybe find a way out of there so he could run off back to the dorm and maybe mess with GarageBand-

     “Uh- ‘scuse me, sorr-“ Patrick immediately turned red as he realized that somewhere in his daydreaming, he’d run into a wall thinking it was a person. The person on the other side of that wall, however, poked his head around and said, rather slurred, “Naw, man. S’okay,” The boy’s breath reeked of beer and tobacco smoke, and the cigarette dangling from his fingers was probably the source of the latter.

     The boy’s skin was like caramel, naturally tanned with a sun-kissed glow overtop of it. His hair was a mess of brown-black spikiness, mussed like he was freshly laid. His grin was far too wide for his face, and Patrick had the strangest urge to smack it off. His eyes, though, were the main spectacle. Light brown, tipping Patrick off that he was probably of dryad descent (it totally wasn’t that the boy was athletic and Patrick was checking him out. Not that at all.), hooded, lined with sun crinkles like he smiled a lot. They were bloodshot and dilated, one of the many things that tipped Patrick off that he was drunk, and lined with thick lashes. This guy was stupidly good-looking, and Patrick instantly hated him.

     The boy smiled at him and attempted to pinch Patrick’s cheek with the hand that wasn’t holding a cigarette, which Patrick quickly dodged. “You’re cute. Freshie?” Patrick did nothing, too shocked to pull away. “Freshie. ‘S’your name, cutie? I’m Pete,” the boy, Pete, took a long drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke into Patrick’s face. Patrick barely avoided having an asthma attack. “Patrick,” he coughed out, waving the foul-smelling smoke away. “Patrick. Pat. Trick. Tricky. Trickerdoodle. Trick. I like that name, Trick,” Pete said, smiling drunkenly and flicking ash onto the ground. It smoked for a moment before smoldering out. The word  _careless_ drifted across Patrick’s mind.

     Every time Patrick tried to leave the conversation, which at best sounded like a coherent conversation put through a blender with an entire bottle of vodka, and was more of Pete yammering on about random shit and taking drags off his cigarette and Patrick making animalistic noises of discomfort whenever Pete touched him (which was often), Pete would make up some excuse and drag him back, literally. It was probably fifteen or twenty minutes of pure agony before Joe came and found him, telling Pete to, “Fuck off, Wentz, don’t kill the poor kid!” and then took him back to the dorm.  

     Apparently, Pete Wentz was a junior, and Joe knew him from high school. He played soccer, baseball, and a few other sports, tipping Patrick off even more that he was dryad, and was here on athletic scholarship. His grades were average, high in English but low in math, and he’d been chain-smoking cigarettes since he was fourteen. He liked “cute things,” Joe said, as a direct quote from Pete, and he also liked girls that were way out of his league, but fucked him anyway because he was an athlete.

     Patrick couldn’t fucking stand him.

     Patrick fiddled with GarageBand when he got back to the dorm as Joe went to shower. He didn’t want to be in there while Joe was doing...whatever Joe was doing in the shower, so he’d take his own in the morning. He was still on his phone by the time Joe came back in, and still on his phone by the time Joe was snoring lightly in the bed across from him, the blue light from his screen straining his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop messing around, playing with the beat and the tones and the instruments until the wee hours of the morning, when he finally passed out, his thoughts definitely  _not_ __on the boy with the golden skin and whisky eyes. Nope. Definitely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


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